#2014 writing

[mintydrop]

MuteInTheCold

I didn't fight the cold, but I didn't give in easily either. Puffs of white formed the image of my breaths. My soft breathing bouncing off the walls and floor of this place. Shifting my body, the heel of one of my boots scraped against the cold floor as I hugged my legs. Burying my face into my knees. My cheeks instantly began to feel warmer. Inside this cold and dark shed that belonged to the gardening club. I should have never come to this side of the school today.. but a letter after school placed within my locker made me--

My face was brimming with excitement as my hands clumsily opened the envelope that had been waiting for me in my locker. My eyes scanned the piece of paper and oh boy.. such beautiful handwriting requesting me to meet at the garden outside the school. His name scribbled at the bottom of the page. Who was I to refuse such a beautiful script of words? I gently closed the metal door and raised my sleeve to my mouth, smiling against the fluff on my jacket. My body rejoiced and it began to move on its own. My steps followed to the chime of my heart as I made haste to the school garden. The tapping of my boots heard throughout the empty hall of the late afternoon. I placed the letter tenderly into my coat pocket, while almost losing my footing in the process. The double doors flew open and the winter touch met my face as I stepped outside. I round the corner of the school, seeing the gardening club area in view. Slowing my pace, I looked around to find the one who wrote me the letter. Nature was so quiet and still. The plants covered in giant trash bags, to protect them from any late night frost. The forest peeking over the wall. No view of my prince-charming. I stood there for a bit, instantly feeling glum that maybe I was either too late, or it was a prank. I did stay after school longer than usual. I was practicing in the choir room by myself. Singing. I couldn't really do it well in front of others. It was way too embarrassing! I shook my head and placed my hands to my cheeks in hopes of shooing the cold out of them. Anxiety crept up on me as I heard some very obnoxious rustling behind me. "Geez, what do we have here?" I could feel my nose cringe a bit after recognizing that voice. I turned to the girl who stood before me. She brushed her long blonde hair behind her shoulders making it flicker in what little light there was outside. The clouds were grey, the wind was absent. Everything just felt so cold and a chill ran up my spine as the schools number one bully and her two lackeys took a step closer to me with grins on their faces. “It’s the mute girl.” One of her friends remarked. I transferred to this school beginning of winter and only having been around for two weeks, I’m starting to get teased for being quiet all the time. “Hey mute girl, do you know who we are!?” I was never good at remembering names, but there you have it.. it’s not like they cared to address me by my real name either! I kept still and quiet for the most part. "… I'm waiting for someone." I mumbled enough so they could hear me. The girls deadpanned at me and then looked at each other, soon bursting into a synchronized laughter. Their teeth showing. Their eyes flaring. Their hair falling out of place. I felt nervous and somehow like everything that was going to happen next was entirely my fault. Before I could react to anything else. The three girls grabbed me by the arms and dragged me away to the back of the greenhouse. I heaved as I felt my arms being squeezed tightly. I wasn't scared, I was becoming upset. It took all of their effort to shove me into this shed I never knew existed back here. Before I could push open the door, I heard a slab of wood being placed on the other side of my exit. I tried to push and pull, but to no avail. "Don't worry, we'll notify that nerdy kid to come and pick you up later." A muffled voice said, as they then burst into laughter once more before it got quiet. I slapped my hands on the door. “Don’t leave me!!” A dead silence, no one came back. I looked up to a tiny window that was high above. I couldn't reach it and I didn't want to damage any of the boxes that were placed around. I decided to just sit down and wait it out. Assuming they meant Ken, it would be best to wait for him. I didn't want to make this into a big deal, because then the bullying could get even worse if they see that I was frightened and angered. I looked at the tiny window before gazing at my watch. There was still light and it was 5:10pm. Fifteen minutes had passed by. Wonder where Kentin could be.. he is such a nice person, I'm sure he would do everything possible to rescue me. Despite not being good at socializing-- he made it easy to be friends with. It was getting colder in the shed and started to wish that someone could come and get me now. I was going to miss one of my favorite TV shows. Laughing at that thought, I heaved heavily and stretched my legs. I tried to stay calm, but couldn't help but let a small tear fall from my eye. Why did this have to happen to me? What have I done wrong..? My brother shouldn't have ever made us move to this city. I tried not to get in anyone's way, but well.. I'm pretty sure that trio picks on a lot of girls..! I whimpered softly as I wiped the tears now falling freely from my eyes. I rubbed my weary eyes and sighed. It felt good to cry, but this feeling in my heart wasn't doing me any good. I gave another sigh before I started to hum a little. I heard my voice echo in a strange way inside this room. I hummed again and gave out a musical note. I grabbed my small handbag and pulled out the tiny notebook I had always carried with me. I flipped the pages and soon began to sing the words that I wrote a few days ago. Feeling happier, strangely I lost time of how long I was in the room. I critiqued myself and played with the tones that the walls reflected. My hums echoed and I sang again. The notes bouncing off the walls even louder than before and continued to ring in my ear after I stopped. I scribbled on the notepad. I got up and twirled once before I stretched my arms and danced a little waltz that I learned from my brother. Suddenly the door rattled. I looked outside the window and the light was fading just a bit. My watch came to a beat of 5:45pm. I slammed the side of my fist on the door. I was relieved that Kentin had finally showed up. I listened to him hurrying to pry the door open. The wooden slab on the other side falling soundly onto crisp grassy dirt. The door latch coming undone. I placed my hands to my mouth as I saw who it was when the door came wide open. His two tone eyes flickering in the shadow, his silver hair glowing with the sun that was now finally laying on the horizion sky. Hair like pure snow tinted at the tips with a bit of darkness. "Are you alright?" Lysanders voice broke me free from my awe. I averted my eyes away from him and nodded once in silence. I could never speak to him whenever we crossed paths... I always wondered if he found it annoying of me for staying silent. I heard him groan a little before asking me again if I was really okay. I patted the dirt from my jeans and reassured him with a, "Yes, thank you.. I am fine now." I looked to him as I felt hot from his doubtful gaze. He stepped closer to me and bent down to the floor to reach for my things. He looked at my notepad. "Moleskin paper is very nice. The texture is smooth for writing. Do you like to write?" I stood silent as I quickly took the small notepad and bag from his hold. I nodded. A relaxing silence trickled into the room for a moment before he spoke. "What were you doing in here?" I didn’t really know what to say, should I be telling him I was bullied in here? The breath transforming into fog. "N-nothing.. I was just.. writing. I didn't touch anything.." I gestured a little to the boxes and items scattered in the shed. He gave a soft sigh before he shook his head. "That is not what I was inquiring... I meant how you got locked in here." I looked past his shoulder and out towards the garden behind him. No one in sight. I didn't want to say I was bullied, though I'm sure Lysander wouldn't tell anyone if I asked him to keep quiet. Still, I didn't want to drag him into my problems.. even if this was the person who I've admired for some time now. I wish I could tell him everything about me, but at the same time I did not want to bother him with my troubles. I shook my head as we started for the center of the garden. "So.. that was you singing. I came out for a bit of fresh air and heard your voice coming from this place." I could feel my face melt, my hands becoming sweaty and my head and heart throbbing. Oh no, someone heard me singing--- Agggh I've embarrassed myself in front of Lysander. "Didn't mean to annoy anyone." I mumbled as Lysander looked at me, raising his eyebrow as he gave me a questioning look. "Do not sell yourself short. You have a beautiful voice. If you didn't sing as you had wanted, I may have not found you." I flinched a little. That’s true, who knows when Kentin would of come by.. but MY voice beautiful..!? I felt happy, clasping my hands as if to hold on to that feeling, but as I slowly reached into my coat pocket, I gripped the paper hiding inside. My cold hands pulled out the now crumpled envelope. Realizing that it did not belong to Lysander as the letter had mentioned, I handed it to him hesitantly. He unfolded the envelope and pulled out the piece of paper inside. He read through the meaningless words in silence, his eyes suddenly shadowed. I stared at the heterochromia that drew me close in wonder. He looked at me and not wanting to meet his eyes, I simply looked down at the ground. I took a step back as he tore the letter and the pieces fluttered to my feet. I felt a little saddened by his actions. He was totally littering, but to tear those sweet words in front of me. I knew he didn't write it, but the thought that it was possible to bond through such a way was destroyed by his hand. He walked out of the garden and I followed slowly as we both approached the front of the school. I was going to say my goodbyes as it was much too late not to be home.. looking up to him, I saw the fog emitting from his lips. "Do you think that I am too much of a coward to ask for some of your time in person..?" I let his question sink into my thoughts before my eyes widened in realization. "N-Not at all..! I never once thought.." My voice trailed off as my lips quivered. He was upset. Does he maybe know that I had my hopes of him way too high..? He figured out why someone locked me in the shed. He figured out that I was weak and smitten over him and someone else took advantage of it. He must feel.. gah, I’m so pathetic!! "... I am.. So Sorry!!" I twirled my heels as I faced the direction of my apartment and began to walk in a stiff and uncomfortable fast pace. The wind fought against my skin and my hair flipped violently before a sharp hold sprang from my right upper arm. I looked back wide-eyed as I saw Lysander's angry face. He wanted answers, he wanted something from me. What was it? Then his face relaxed and so did the tension in my body. "Apologies, I never noticed." He softly spoke. Oh no, so he's figuring out now, that I have a crush-- "You were being bullied. Possibly why you avoid me so much. Pardon me.. if you hate me. I hope you do not honestly think I am in some way involved in these pranks." I looked at him, my eyes in shock. He was still oblivious..!? I mentally smiled at the wave of relief that came over me. I shook my head and hands resting my eyes at the ground. "Never.. once thought that. From what I’ve seen, Lysander is a very good person.." I mumbled and continued to look down at our feet, hoping he wouldn't point out that I was probably turning red from the face. I heard him sighing as he stepped a little closer to me. I looked up to him and seeing his eyes, some how calmed all of my emotions. I stepped back and looked around to see the area was empty of people. "Can I hear you again?" he asked. I blinked and must have been staring at him like an idiot as he felt the need to explain. "I mean your singing. I would like, if we can practice together some time." I nodded my head up and down. Was Lysander in choir as well? I mentally kicked myself for not knowing anything about him, but I felt so happy. I had to restrain myself from glomping this guy. "That’s okay with me. I'll see you later." I waved to him as I began to leave him at the school entrance. My breath leaving a trail of fog. I looked back and saw him still staring out at me. I smiled a little and continued walking all the way to my apartment. I had to write these feelings that were bursting from me. I could finally have the chance to express my feelings to him with my voice.

“I better shoot Kentin an email, don’t want him worrying about me.” Tomorrow I’ll let him in on what happened today!

[ambiengrey]

Jason has a favour to ask of Alfred.

(this is all just dialogue, because I generally came up with that first and then add all the inbetween bits, but it worked well without all those bits, so I left it as-is. I might yet doodle this) 

“Look at it! Couple centimetres it’ll be all the way down to my nose… And it gets in my ears, and it’s hot and sweaty, and it curls – look at this – I don’t know where that comes from. Are hair types hereditary?”

“…Don’t…know…”

“Well, you suck.”

“Uhh-huh…”

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”

“Hm-hmm, Jason, sure…”

“Tt.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Oh, that he hears.”

“How’ve you been keeping your hair out of your face under that hood of yours, anyway?”

“Uhhh…just…comb it back, it’s perfectly tameable.”

“……”

“What? What’re you smirking at, Replacement?”

“You know that sounds more endearing nowadays than anything else. Like a nickname. Like, ‘Little Wing’; same thing.”

“Shut up.”

“Just admit it, you like me.”

“I do not. You’re an ass.”

“And also – you pin it back, don’t you? Your hair.”

“Wha-at—? I do not.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Not with hair pins and everything?”

“No.”

“Stephanie’s hair pins?”

“…No.”

“No? Well, then, I guess you won’t be needing these—”

“You little shit – you had these? Give me that!”

“Hahaa-heh—haaa…”

“Do you have any idea how uncomfortable last night’s patrol was?”

“Ha—cause your hair was in your face, or because you were scared of Steph kicking your ass cause you lost her pins?”

“Both. …Butmostlythelatter…”

“Heh, yeah.”

“Stop laughing, you ass. I hate you.”

“Of course.”

“Of course of course.”

“…”

“Snacks, sirs?”

“Thanks, Alfred—”

“Al! Always pop up like you’re heaven-sent.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“‘Indeed, sir’, yes—I kinda wanna ask you something?”

“Hm. I’m all ears, Master Jason.”

“Well, I was…wondering, I mean, if you’re not too busy with your – butler-schedule, butlering, as you do – if, maybe…um… you’dcutmyhair, maybe?”

“Ha-ha—hmph—”

“Shut up, Replacement—”

“Ha—Jay, why don’t you just go to a professional? Uh, no offense, Alfred, but, it’s not like we can’t afford it, and…it’s not really your job to see to our hair. You already do so much.”

“No offense taken, sir.”

“I’m still legally dead, Pretender. I can’t just walk into a decent barber shop and expect not to be recognized. ’Sides, Al – you know how I like it? And you always used to do it, before—which, I realise, was…before, but, it’s not like – I dunno, you’d forget, elephant brain, or I’d forget, but I guess, if you don’t want to, I can always – got to be some place in the Narrows, or like, a whole other city—”

“That will not be necessary, sir. I do not mind, in the least.”

“Really, Alfie? You’ll cut my hair?”

“Like old times, sir.”

“Ah—Alfred, you’re the best!”

“Oh! Ah – uh, indeed, sir. Ahem. When would you like to have your appointment?”

“Uh, any time – just sit me down and there we go. But, not right now, I gotta – I need to go, do a thing.”

“Ah. Very well, sir.”

“Yeah, right. So, later—”

“‘A thing’, Jason? You were complaining of being bored and having nothing to do not ten minutes ago, besides keeping me out of my work—”

“And I have, since then, remembered, about a thing, that needs doing, by me. You should be grateful – you can get on with your—whatever the heck it was.”

“Hmp.”

“Later, Timmy. Al.”

“Sir.”

“…

“…Alfred?”

“Yes, Master Tim?”

“Did he really…hug you, and kissed you on the forehead, just now?”

“I am quite certain I have no idea what you are referring to, Master Tim. Are you quite well? Goodness, I was certain the meat on these sandwiches were fresh…”

“Haha, Alfred. Very funny.”

“I do try, sir.”

“Heh. But, seriously, Alfred – that was really…weird, even for Jason.”

“Hmm…felt rather…familiar, to me, sir.”

“…How so?”

“Well, Master Jason was a much more affectionate child than most of us care to remember, and not above the occasional hug to whomever deserved it.”

“Heh, was that mostly you?”

“I…may have gotten more than my fair share.”

“Haha! Always knew Jason had a soft spot for you.”

“Yes, well…”

“…What about the…’thing’ he’s ‘got to go do’? I know there’s not a thing, Alfred. He just—ran off. Almost literally.”

“Well…and I am sharing this with you, Master Timothy, because I know Master Jason will not, and, to better help you understand him. Heaven knows, not enough of us do.”

“Fair enough.”

“Master Jason is…fairly easily embarrassed, sir. Though it has gotten better over time, public displays of affection still make him uncomfortable – more so when he’s directly part of it. I believe he slipped, just now. And, with you and he not quite as close as you might be and I not having had a hug since the ominous ‘before’…I’m not surprised some distance from the incident is desirable.”

“…Wow… Red Hood gets embarrassed? I never would’ve thought. Though, he did blush bright red when I whipped out Steph’s hair pins, so there’s that.”

“Hm.

“…You are aware, Master Tim, that Jason is no more the Red Hood than you are Red Robin, or Master Dick is Nightwing, or Miss Stephanie is Batgirl.”

“Yeah, I know. Just a funny thought.”

“Indeed, sir. If you’ll excuse me, these aren’t going to wash themselves.”

“Right.

“…Hey, Alfred?”

“Sir?”

“How bad of a little brother would I be, if I teased him just a little bit, about his…rosy cheeks?”

“Simply deplorable, sir.”

“Yeah…that’s what I thought.”

“Though, if you don’t mind my saying so, sir – is that not a little brother’s prerogative?”

“…It is?”

“You didn’t hear it from me, sir.”

“Of course not, Alfred.

“Very good, sir.”

[ambiengrey]

Broken-winged Robins

“Timothy,” a heavy hand landed on the twelve year old boy’s shoulder, nearly startling him out of his seat – a flash and a shutter-sound accompanying his startled cry.

Tim looked up, cheeks colouring, whilst his father patted his back and chuckled good-naturedly.

“Good to see you concentrating so hard, son, but I hadn’t meant to scare you that bad.”

“It’s, er…it’s fine,” Tim smiled weakly at his father, shifting a little in his seat and surreptitiously pulling his camera closer to his chest.

Jack Drake’s smile was almost warm. He gestured at Tim’s camera. “What are you doing, then, son? You’ve been out here for hours,” it was only just not an outright rebuke.

Jack looked around at their expansive back yard and Tim’s eyes made a sweep of the view as well.

He shrugged, partially in reply, and partially to shuck off his father’s still-lingering hand. It felt very much like a commanding grip rather than a companionable one.

Tim was starting to wonder why his father had actually come out to find him – it could only mean his parents wanted him inside again for something. And Tim had only just started getting some good shots…

“Just testing out the new lens…zoom’s great,” he replied quietly, peering up at his father, still feeling the heat in his face from being caught so off guard before.

In Tim’s defence, he’d had absolutely no reason to expect any kind of interruption – least of all from one of his parents.

“Photographing what, then?” it didn’t sound like interest so much as… Tim couldn’t describe.

“Robins, mostly…” he replied, only half-dishonest.

Jack nodded, seemingly thoughtful, before he finally released Tim in favour of pulling the second chair closer and plopping down almost right next to Tim.

Tim tried not to stare. Or gape.

“Bird-watching,” almost a derisive snort. “An idle past-time, don’t you think, son?”

Oh. It was to better lecture, then.

Oh well.

“Not really,” Tim hedged. “It’s…like people-watching. I’m…honing my observation skills on a simpler target, is all,” Tim shrugged, tried a smile. “Plus, I…have to test the lens somehow,” he shifted the camera in his grip in indication, and ducked his head almost instinctively – mentally berating himself; his mother didn’t approve of that.

“What have you taken so far, then?” his father questioned, gaze sweeping across the lawn again. “I don’t see any robins…”

“They’re by the trees mostly,” Tim replied, slipping too easily into the lie, feeling too comfortable there. “And the fountain. I got a really good shot before…but they’ve flown off by now,” he added, gaze lingering on the fountain several miles down the way, in the centre of his mother’s rose garden than wasn’t really hers at all.

Jack scratched at his jaw, leaned forward across the table and gestured to Tim’s camera, “Let’s see, then.”

“Oh,” Tim said, a little surprised, quickly switching to his photos and flitting through them on the screen in search of the only real birds he’d taken. “It’s really just the one…” finding the red-breasted robins, filling up the entirety of the screen (the zoom really was great), one holding it’s wing awkwardly while the other seemed to fuss over the smaller bird where they were perched on the fountain’s edge, Tim moved his camera around for Jack to see.

He didn’t relinquish it to his father’s hold even as the older man laid a hand on it as if to take it, though.

“Hmmm…fair enough,” he mused, almost begrudgingly. “What have you observed, then?”

“It has a bad wing,” Tim leaned a little closer to point. “See?”

Jack squinted, then huffed, “If you say so,” he stood abruptly, and Tim pulled his camera back to his side. “Come inside soon,” meaning anywhere between now and the next two minutes. “Your mother and I have news.”

“Okay,” Tim said, but the man was already crossing the porch towards the back door.

Tim only followed him with his eyes for a moment before he turned back in his seat, raising the camera to his eye and finding the fountain.

Turning the lens to zoom in as far as it would go he shifted his sights to the trees just beyond.

He adjusted the focus, bringing the deep green leaves into perspective until he found the usual gap to peer through, and changed the focus again to concentrate on the image beyond the trees.

Past the edge of the Drake-estate, coming slowly into view, was their neighbour’s back yard – the Wayne estate.

Coincidentally perched in perfect view of Tim’s camera, was a lanky dark-haired young man, sitting cross-legged on the lawn, a wide smile on his face.

Tim clicked the shutter.

Dick Grayson was Mr Wayne’s ward, visiting from Blüdhaven, Tim knew. Had been for a few weeks.

Dick laughed, and Tim could only imagine what it sounded like, while he tried to grab hold of the boy next to him – Jason Todd, Mr Wayne’s adopted son.

Another press of the shutter-button.

Jason Todd was a little older than Tim, with the same dark hair as Dick, and Tim himself, but Tim hardly ever saw him smile at anyone unless it was a smirk or a sneer, or an arrogant grin.

Or one other, but even that was nothing like Dick’s – bright and open.

Jason Todd tucked his arm close to his chest and Dick spoke, though Tim couldn’t tell what he was saying, and eventually the younger boy rolled his eyes and relinquished his arm to the older man’s hold.

Dick grasped it, gentle but enthusiastic, and poised a thick dark marker above the blank white cast Jason Todd’s broken arm was encased in.

His hand moved, doodling something Tim couldn’t see with the angle Dick was working from, but Tim took the picture anyway. Jason Todd scowled, but Tim focused on his face and waited patiently.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long for the smallest, rarest of almost-smiles to grace the boy’s lips, and, eternally satisfied, Tim pressed the button one last time.

The shutter sounded, and Tim watched through the advanced zoom for only a moment more before he lowered the camera and switched it off.

Time to face his parents. With any luck they were headed off to another foreign country for some work-related thing or another, and Tim could return to his perch and continue Robin-watching in awe-filled isolation.

Fandom made me believe Tim grew up next to Wayne Manor. In my defence, I. Had almost zero access to comic books, so *shrug* What do I know about anything, really. XP

[ambiengrey]

Thought I Saw Blood

One day at college we analysed this short story, entitled Eendag dag ek ek sien bloed, by Zirk van den Berg, and it made me think of Dick Grayson for some reason, and thus this short little AU thing was born. You can read an English version of Eendag dag ek ek sien bloed (which directly translates One Day I Thought I Saw Blood) here.

I brought sandwiches to school for Dick Grayson. He and his father lived off a charity fund set up by the Wayne Foundation for struggling families in Gotham’s more under-privileged neighbourhoods. People said the accident that killed Dick’s mother and crippled his father, was no accident.

Dick’s family was originally from out of town, just the three of them.

The Flying Graysons were a trapeze act for Haly’s Circus. The circus train rolled into Gotham in the middle of the Festive Season and dampened everyone’s holiday spirits when the Graysons finished off the show with their daring trapeze act – the two adults somersaulting simultaneously at one point during the routine, and grabbing hold of their trapezes once more, only to find ropes snapping, their gravity-defying ties severed and the pull of the earth forcing them down.

The net below was sabotaged as well, and Dick’s father, who hit it first, broke the tension with his weight and snapped a leg at an odd, irreparable angle. Dick’s mother, with no net to break her fall, fell to her death.

The Grayson pair stayed behind in Gotham, thus, charity cases for billionaire philanthropist Bruce Wayne – Dick’s father no longer able to work for the circus and too grief-stricken and traumatized to let Dick continue performing.

Apparently, people said, the “accident” had been a warning for the circus, from crime lord Zucco, in an attempt to convince Mister Haly the circus needed to pay protection money. But that’s just what people said. The circus didn’t perform a second night that year.

Or so I was told.

I don’t know.

All I do know is that Dick was always hungry, and I was always bringing him sandwiches. He was a little tall for his age, but then he sort of got stuck there and stayed short later on. He was thin and wiry, and always covered in scrapes and scabs – also on his face. We sort of admired him and longed to be as tough as we thought he was.

During break, we would gather around him in a cluster, by the jungle gym, egging him on to show us his stunt – “Come on, Dick, show us!”

Dick would duck his head a little, the shadow of a smile at the corner of his mouth, before he’d glance at me and I’d nod and he’d perform the stunt.

We’d stand back a little, in a half-circle around him. Dick would look around, catching sight of each of us, meeting eyes with everyone, his smile almost evident. He’d kick the biggest pebbles on the ground between us and him, so they bounced off to the side, before stepping onto the second-lowest rung of the jungle gym ladder behind him. Clinging to it with one hand, he’d grin – big and wide and bright – at his audience, taking a deep bow with his free arm bent in front of his waist.

Sometimes, we’d clap a little.

Coming up, his face would be serious again, only the faintest little smile at the corner of it.

He would stand completely unmoving, stiff, with his arms tight against his sides and his hands clenched into fists.

We would watch, wide-eyed.

Dick would lean forward, painstakingly slow, his body straight as a rod, fingers clutching at the seams of his pants.

It always goes slow, at first. His heels lift a little, as much as they can on the jungle gym’s pipe-like step – sometimes, he actually stands on the tiptoes of his abused shoes.

He picks up speed, then, almost abruptly.

Sometimes – on the days we clap a little – he quickly spreads his arms in those last moments, and for a fleeting, frozen second, he appears to be flying off the jungle gym step—

And then he hits the ground with a loud thud, face on the gravel.

There’s a loud, joyous cheer. Dick rolls over, and stretches out his hand to take his sandwich from me, face split with a grin.

[excessive-eye]

A left here and a right there

I don't think your soulmate is always in the same city as the one you grew up in or the one you were born in. And if you and your soulmate met in different cities that neither of you reside in, that definitely means something. If you hadn't traveled 3 miles down that one road, make a left here and a right there, you wouldn't have met your soulmate. If you hadn't gone out of the house for whatever reason to go pick up a couch or a coffee, you wouldn't have met them and it's so crazy to think that. Always travel 3 miles down this road and a left here and a right there and get out of the house, because a "what if" could be an "I'm so happy I did ____ because I met you"

[blotsonapage]

Reunion

Written 2014

Anticipation hung heavy in the air that morning as the first group of South Koreans lingered in the designated areas of the Mount Kumgang resort, waiting for the North Korean officials to finally allow their relatives inside.

There were near a hundred of them crowded into the reception hall of the northern resort. Old men in their neatly pressed suits, and women in their traditional, colorful hanboks, all crowded as near to the door as the officials would let them, anxious to meet the brothers and sisters and children they had not seen, or even heard from, since the borders had been drawn and the armistice had been signed nearly sixty years ago.

Near the back of the group, Park Chin-Hae stood, watching the door with dark eyes that were set deep into his weathered face. His shaking hands, wrinkled and marked by the ravages of time, clutched at the gift bag of medicine and chocolate treats he brought along for the family he’d not seen in decades.  

Like so many around him, Chin-Hae was excited to be reunited with his family once more, to hear everything about their lives that he’d been forced to miss. However, he couldn’t help the vague sense of unease that settled in his stomach as the minutes passed. It churned uncomfortably within him, mingling and mixing with the guilt he’d carried since the end of the war.

After all, he wasn’t South Korean by birth.

Looking away from the door, he let his gaze wander over the familiar, older style of the resort, taking in the wooden beams and muted colors that weren’t often found in South Korean architecture. In the two corners nearest the doors, two North Korean officials stood, wearing their crisp military uniforms with obvious pride, which made Chin-Hae grimace.

He’d been like those soldiers once, when he’d first been conscripted as a young man. He’d worn that uniform and had shared that duty of serving his country and leader, up until he’d been taken prisoner by the forces in the South. And then he’d turned his back and chosen to stay, because, even as a prisoner, he’d been treated far better in the south than he’d been as a soldier in the north.

Now, however, he wondered if it had been worth it. He’d lost so many years with his family because of his choice, unable to see or contact them in any way under the government’s rule. The only memory he’d been granted was the one captured by the photo in his back pocket, showing his younger brother and his bride on the wedding day Chin-Hae had been forced to miss. A day he should have been a part of.

His attention was drawn back to the present, gaze snapping towards the front of the room, as the door to the reception area slowly creaked open and the men and women from North Korea filed in. There was a hush over the room at their appearance, an almost shocked disbelief that this all was actually happening. That, after sixty years, they would finally be able to speak with and hold their long lost family members once more. And then, when the door shut behind the last North Korean, there was chaos.

Relatives who recognized each other fell into each other’s arms, sobbing. Several were unable to remain standing from the shock of it all and sank to the floor with their family members, completely overwhelmed. And Chin-Hae, his own eyes watering at the sight of so many tearful reunions, eagerly scanned the room, searching for hints of the face he had never forgotten.

He spun around slowly as the many Koreans filled the room, looking for anything familiar, gift bag held protectively against his chest. Glancing briefly to the side, his eyes fell upon another man who was weaving through the reuniting families. The man turned his head towards Chin-Hae, and they both froze. Chin-Hae recognized those eyes, the shape of that face, remembering them from his childhood. Even with age, Chin-Hae knew the face of his brother, and it seemed that the other man saw the same in him.

“Chin-Hae?” he questioned, voice hesitant. He didn’t seem to believe his eyes. Tearfully, Chin-Hae nodded.

“Hello, Myung-Dae.”

“It’s you,” his brother breathed, walking over to Chin-Hae. His hands fluttered over his brother, as if unsure if Chin-Hae was actually there or not. But then, he embraced Chin-Hae, and held him with all the strength his now frail arms could muster, sobbing into Chin-Hae’s shoulder. “I thought you were dead all these years. That I’d never see you again. Praise our Great Leader for this day.”

Chin-Hae nodded and pulled Myung-Dae close, joy filling him as his arms wrapped around his brother for the first time in sixty years.

Thank God, Chin-Hae silently agreed. Thank God I could see you again.

[tangentwarning]

From February, 20th, 2014

Tiny purple rocks, sonic in flight but inaudible. A dark misty glow that baked exsistance in our mind. He was not of this world, or the next. A stranger. Lost and strained by the discourse technologies create. Soul yearning sockets where his eyes laid looked through you and not at. The onlooker; one that gazed and saw love and hope and war and beautiful inspired nights. A wonder. A dream. The information in his headspace was vast and lurching, taking up every bit of our combined knowledge in its wake. No tears due to the lack of understanding; there was only quiet, a cold and peacful face. The purple dieties from the sky continued to crash into the Earth's outer crust, and no words were spoken.

[technowings]

Black Building

In town, there is a black building. The siding is black, the shutters are black, and the window frames are black. Even the windows are darker than they should be. No one ever talks about the building. No one ever goes inside, and no one ever comes out. Sometimes I stand across the street from it and stare at it really hard, trying to imagine the sort of people who would live or work in an all black building. I imagine men in black suits and ties, typing away at black typewriters filled with black paper, keys striking the darkness out of the paper everytime they hit and leaving strange white letters in an alphabet that nobody but they know. I wonder if there are black carpets and black walls, and if the people inside can even see where they're going, or if all light is swallowed up by the inkiness of their surroundings, and the only way that they can see is is their eyes shine like lanterns in the gloom. Once while I was staring and imagining ladies in dark dresses traveling up stairs and down halls with little black dogs following at their heels, a man stopped and asked me had me staring so intently. When I told him about the building, he gave me a stange look like you give someone whenyou suspect they might have a head disease, and told me that there was nothing there. He seemed confused and worried, looking across the street for a moment before his expression changed and he turned back to me as though nothing in the world was wrong. He patted me on the head and told me that I had a good imagination, but I should be careful telling such stories, because I might make less understanding and creative people nervous. Then he smiled and went on his way. I never saw the man again.